Double X
by Qismat Qami
Summary: -AU, R27, shoujo ai, crack!fic, Gender Bender.- "You have twenty minutes to learn how to put on a bra. Do it with your dying will." Crack!fic with no redeeming quality. Unless you count pervy!fem!Reborn... Enjoy!


**Warnings:** Future-AU, Slash/Shounen Ai, Femslash/Shoujo Ai, **crack!fic**, humor, **GENDER BENDER**, pervy!Reborn, No redeeming quality whatsoever

**Characters/Pairings:** Reborn + Tsuna

**Rating:** Teen

**Disclaimer:** Owned by Amano Akira, et al.

**Summary:** "You have twenty minutes to learn how to put on a bra. Do it with your dying will."

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**A/N:** Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that zie hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing zir upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank you most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit in the form of a review. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.

**A/N** **2**: for **pianno** on LiveJournal who requested a Gender Bender. Sadly, the author couldn't think of anything to fulfill the "High School" part of it. Zie hopes this is sufficient, though.

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::Double X::

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Reborn takes a moment to seriously consider ushering the Vongola's infamously inept mechanic into the afterlife with one precisely placed bullet—and not the Dying Will inducing kind either. No, this particular matter deserves nine millimeters of hot lead.

However, only one thing stays his hand and it has to do with his former pupil: Sawada Tsunayoshi, Vongola Decimo, makes a strikingly handsome woman and the thirty-year-old's mounting outrage only makes it sweeter. Yes, Reborn is quite willing to endure this minor setback, his own inadvertent emasculation at the hands of Giannini's latest weapon modification, for the opportunity to witness the Decimo in such a flustered state.

Ah, sometimes he misses Tsuna's teenage years and their attendant histrionics. It was so easy to get a rise out of Japanese man then. For the least amount of effort he could garner weeks and weeks of entertainment. Oh, and the way Tsuna's face looked when he got all teary-eyed and panicky! Or how easy it was to dropkick him! Teenage Tsuna was just the kind of kid you wanted to bully until he cried. Good times, those.

The early twenties weren't a total loss as far as Reborn deriving pleasure at his student's expense went, but by the mid and late twenties Tsuna had begun to develop an immunity to his machinations. He'd finally settled into his own identity; and now thirty-year-old Tsuna moves through the world with the quiet, gentle confidence of the truly powerful. Not even the most obscure and potentially humiliating Vongola Family Tradition can put a cold sweat across his brow.

"I'm going to murder him," Tsuna says, fists clenching by his—her—sides. Giannini has wisely absented himself and, if he's smart, will not come within thirty miles of Tsuna until the effects wear off.

Reborn inspects his own elegantly feminized hands, while keeping a thoroughly interested eye on the mounting color in the Decimo's cheeks. The brushed silver mirror above the sideboard attests to Reborn's own charms in this particular body type. He makes quite the fetchingly dangerous study of the feminine: femme fatale.

"Consider this a learning experience," he advises with a smirk. Incredulous brown eyes turn to him, size him up, and then dart away. The other man's color darkens along with his frown, well-formed mouth pulled into a delicious moue of anger. Now if only a few tears would gather in those coppery lashes, Reborn will be quite pleased. Tsuna's crying face is truly a work of art—perhaps abstract art—and Reborn has gone without it for nearly a decade.

"What the hell am I supposed to learn?" Tsuna pulls irritably at his short-cropped brown hair and then tugs down the collar of his now-oversized Kelly-green dress shirt to peek in and, presumably, check to see if he still has breasts. He does, if the sudden deepening of his cherry-dark flush is any indication.

"Hmm, what indeed?"

Reborn's own figure has not undergone such a drastic change. The obvious manifestations of the female have distorted the smart lines of his tailored black suit, but he still retains the height, breadth of shoulder and trimness of waist that he had as a man. Perhaps he should attempt to feel envious of Tsuna's more endowed bust? He considers and then discards the idea.

Of the two of them Tsuna has undergone a more noticeable transubstantiation: he has gone from just under six-feet to just barely over five and all of his clothes now threaten to slip off with the least amount of provocation. Reborn is quite looking forward to that potential happening. Age has been especially kind to the Decimo and this accident-caused alteration has been even more voluptuously complimentary.

Yes, he shall indulge Giannini's mistake this time around, especially if Tsuna's trousers succumb to gravity as they have been threatening to do for the past ten minutes.

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Tsuna has never before been afflicted with the nigh overwhelming need to wrap his bare hands around another's neck and just _squeeze_. Today marks the end of that particular achievement.

While Giannini has, over the past decade, become more reliable as an engineer, he still has his moments of nostalgically catastrophic ineptitude. And why, oh why, is it more often than not that Tsuna finds himself on the receiving end those moments? Perhaps he should dissuade Giannini and Spanner from continuing their invention-fuelled feud? Being stuck with a pair of white rabbit ears and a cottony puff of a tail for two weeks had not been pleasant, no matter how manly Gokudera-kun assured him they were, and this newest outrage has pushed him to his limit.

To compound matters, his former tutor has also been dragged into this whole mess, and Tsuna is honestly surprised the man—er, woman—has yet to hunt down and unload a clip into the portly engineer. Maybe the hitman's undue fascination with Tsuna's sagging white trousers has something to do with this?

Tsuna himself is rather awkwardly intrigued by the sleekly curvaceous form of his former tutor. Reborn as a woman, who would have thought? He looks like the man-eating dominatrix type, the kind who steps all over men and makes them _like_ it. Even Reborn's trademark curly sideburns and black fedora with the orange satin hatband lend themselves to the blade-sharp femininity he has going on. He really pulls this off, the whole being transformed into a woman thing. Tsuna's only comfort is that he has bigger breasts—and that's not at all comforting considering a man isn't supposed to have breasts in the first place!

He hitches up the waist of his trousers and contemplates just letting gravity do as it is wont; his dress shirt is now more on the "dress" side of things, after all.

Learning experience, his ass. Is Reborn going senile? The Italian hitman might have the body of a twenty-year-old, but his real age is closer to that of Tsuna's father. Yes, senility, that must be it.

"You still have that meeting with Xanxus in thirty minutes," said hitman reminds him with deliberately evident relish. The red-hot flush drains from Tsuna's cheeks. A long, drawn-out sigh trickles from his mouth. Of course he does. Of course he has a meeting with the leader of the Varia on a day like this.

"You have twenty minutes to learn how to put on a bra." Tsuna is not the least bit surprised by the matte black Browning HP custom pointed between his brows. "Do it with your dying will."

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~End~

A/N: Again, where the hell is Leon? No clue. The author guesses… that he doesn't exist in zir world…


End file.
